Seeing Them
by Laser Lance 720
Summary: 'So you can see them too? The Thesrals.'


Written for the **Variety of Prompts** (Word: Thestral, Object: Pocket Watch), **The 'As Many As You Want'** (Sky – "Where are you going?" – Cloak – Star – Mission – Crimson – Default Setting – Incredibly Close – "Pain is temporary. Victory lasts forever" – Muggle), **Greek Mythology** (Nemesis: Write about Draco Malfoy), **Disney Character** (The Hunter: Write about a death eater), and **The Year Long Story Count.**

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It was seeing them for the first time that made everything all the more real for Draco. They looked exactly as described, but at the same time the details told to him were nothing in comparison to the creatures he was looking at now. Their skin was leathery, stretched tight over their bony bodies. Large blank eyes followed the students who paid no mind to them, and every time one of their white stares landed on Draco, he felt as if the creature was dooming him. Their wings were just as bony as the rest of their body, and when flapped they reminded him of a dementors cloak.

Draco withdrew his gaze from the creatures, choosing to glance up towards the sky instead. A lone star rested above, twinkling slowly as if fighting to stay alive. A collection of noise to his left drew Draco's attention downwards. He was disappointed to land his gaze on Granger as she climbed into one of the carriages along with the rest of the large group; no one but the blonde Ravenclaw and Longbottom making note of the horses at the front of the carriage. The group, squished incredibly close in the open carriage, was looking around, obviously in search for the missing Potter boy who would complete their gang.

Her gaze caught his for a moment, before drifting off onto Weasley.

Draco wanted to chuckle at the humor that as their carriage began to pull away, Potter wouldn't be catching it anytime soon. He figured the train must have already started back to London by now, and the Gryffindor should just be starting to unfreeze from where he'd left him. As it was, he couldn't find the laughter as he watched the carriage turn a corner, Granger's crimson stripped Gryffindor scarf the last thing to leave his sight.

White blank eyes of the creature pulling the next carriage quickly took his focus.

With the group gone, it was time for him and the others to get in their own carriage. Parkinson wrapped her arm around his, batting heavily painted eyelashes before dragging him towards the small stagecoach. She let go in order to climb into her seat on the Thestral side of the cart, Crabbe and Goyle clambering in after, dropping on either of her side. Zabini followed, but froze when he noticed Draco stepping away from them.

"Where are you going?"

His voice snapped Draco from the haze he hadn't realized he'd settled into. Glancing up, he noticed that he'd wandered a bit away, closer to the strange creature. Shaking his head, and slapping an unaffected frown onto his lips – an expression that had become his default setting it seemed – he stepped away from the beast and climbed into the back half of the carriage alongside Zabini. Nott followed after, barely sitting beside him before the carriage lurched forward and they began their trek to the school.

The others kept up a conversation as Draco sat in silence, his hand buried deep in his cloak pocket. Keeping an eye locked onto the creature pulling the carriage, Draco ran his thumb over the metal object that rested there. He tried not to think on it too much, yet couldn't help but to run his touch over the embossed letter M.

"So you could see them too?" Theodore's voice was just over a whisper. The rest of the group paid no mind to them, Pansy locked in conversation with Crabbe and Goyle, and Zabini drifting in and out in boredom. Lifting his gaze onto the short sixth year boy who had spoken, Draco only rose an eyebrow in questioning. Nott shifted his gaze onto the horses, before moving back onto his friend. "The Thestrals?"

Draco didn't respond, but moved his focus onto the beast. The horse continued trotting along, but threw its head back and ruffled into long stringy mane. A white eye watched him before the creature turned back around. Draco nodded, but didn't speak.

"It was my mother." Nott spoke once more. "She died in front of me."

Draco looked his friend in the eye. "You've never really talked about it before."

"Never really wanted to." Nott shrugged. "Still don't."

Nodding in understanding, Draco turned his attention away from the boy. He continued to rub the object in his pocket, but kept his gaze on the horse. It had been a Muggleborn, just turned twenty two, and her Muggle parents. He'd been forced to watch as they were tortured and later killed. He'd been made to cast his own Crucio onto them, only for it to not work and the curse be turned onto himself as punishment. He'd watched at the light went from each of their eyes with a flash of green. They hadn't done anything wrong, had just been caught under Death Eater's radar. And that had been enough to get them killed.

Wrapping his hand around the piece in his pocket, Draco tried not to let his memories flood him. It had been after that day, after watching the family be murdered, that he'd been branded. Just the thought of that brought the burn once more to his arm. He tried not to grab it out of pain as the serpent like voice slithered through his head once more. "_Pain is temporary_," he had hissed over the crying boy, "_Victory last forever_".

He'd been given his mission, and told the consequences of failure. The Crucios he'd suffered would be nothing compared to what would come should he be unsuccessful, and even that was nothing to the threat that resided over his mother's life.

He tried to push that from his mind as the carriage pulled up at the school. Crabbe, Goyle, and Parkinson exited, the two boys heading off while she waited behind. Zabini took up the rear as Nott and Draco climbed out. The group of friends were silent as the carriages began to move away.

Draco kept his gaze on the horse as it trotted off, looking back at him with white eyes only once before vanishing back down the hill. He stuck his hands back into his pockets, fingers hitting the metal, as he turned.

Parkinson latched onto his side, trying to gain his attention as she led him into the castle. Zabini and Nott were just ahead of them. Nott glanced back to Draco, the two boys sharing an understanding look, before the younger went back to his conversation.

Draco was quite the rest of the way, only making minimal responses to Pansy's gossiping. He found himself sitting at the Slytherin table all too quickly, the Sorting Ceremony beginning, but he paid no mind. Around him, Crabbe and Goyle complained about the wait to eat. Nott slipped into conversation with the Davis girl, and Zabini was talking with a new first year.

At the front of the room, Dumbledor stood with the other teachers. He helped direct the incoming first years to their houses, smiling all the while. He was unaware of the death sentence that Draco had been ordered to give. Yet every time the name gaze landed on Slytherin, there seemed to be something in his twinkling eyes to give cause to worry. Draco knew that it was just paranoia that was causing him to worry, but the anxiety didn't fade even after he removed his gaze from the headmaster.

Before long, the food appeared on the table, and conversations were paused as plates were filled. Draco didn't move, one hand still in his pocket, at his gaze drifted over towards the Gryffindor table. Granger and Weaslette were looking around in worry, most likely searching for Potter. Once more, Draco tried to laugh, but couldn't find the humor.

Removing his gaze from the Gryffindor's, Draco began to pile the food onto his plate. But as soon as he picked up the fork, everything in front of him just didn't look appetizing. He dropped the silverware and sat back.

He turned his attention onto the watch in his pocket, the weight growing more and more unbearable as the seconds passed. Drawing it out, he cast his gaze down onto it. The gold medal was dulled from age, but still held a shine. The M stamped into the metal was elegantly inscribed, the marking of the Malfoy family. He could feel the gears working inside of it, the hands ticking away the seconds.

The pocket watch, passed down from father to son in the Malfoy family for generations, had been given to him the night before his branding. The night his father was taken to Azkaban. The patriarch had given it to him, telling him that he was now the man of the home, the protector of the family, the one to uphold the Malfoy name, as if there was a name or family left to take care of. As if there was a home to protect. As if giving him the watch made up for the fact that the man sold his son to be branded and put his wife into the hostage position she was now in.

The opening of the hall door drew Draco's attention towards it. Potter walked in, eyes glaring at the blonde, and his Muggle attire rumpled from laying on the floor for so long. He continued to glare at Draco as he made his way to the Gryffindor table.

His attack on Potter on the train had been a moment of anger and rage, and now that the adrenaline rush was gone, Draco didn't really know how to feel. He knew he couldn't blame the Potter boy for the situation he was now placed in, but that didn't mean he couldn't try. After all, it had been Potter who'd put Lucius Malfoy behind bars. And it had been the arrest of Lucius that forced Draco to take the man's position.

"You okay Dray?" Parkinson's voice called from his side. It was then that Draco realized that he'd been watching Potter and the rest of his table.

"Fine." He responded, storing the pocket watch into his cloak once more and picking up the fork. He stabbed at the potatoes, unwilling to look up at the others sitting around him. As he brought the food up to his lips, he found that he wanted to puck, and he doubted it was in response to the food.

Closing his eyes, he tried to clear his mind. Clear it of Potter. Clear it of his mission and the man with the twinkling eyes. Clear it of the nameless Muggleborn girl and her family. Clear it of his fear. Clear it of all he had witnessed.

Clear it of the blank white gaze which seemed to linger even when his eyes were shut.


End file.
